Ups and downs

smoke, boy, and cigarette image

Some things are going really well at the moment. I downloaded an app called ‘Clean Time Counter’ and now know that I haven’t purged in almost 95 hours, which is amazing, and I hope that the app will continue to motivate me to stay strong because I don’t want to have to face the bitter failure, disappointment and embarrassment I will bring upon myself if I have to set the time back again.
So far, it has worked. The pressure is constantly there because nothing else can make me as relaxed and relieved as binging and purging can, but I’m trying my hardest.

Unfortunately, that makes my mood swings worse.
They’ve become a bigger issue over the last few months again and now they’re even worse, and because I can’t talk about them to my family, they assume I’m a moody bitch even though that’s just the only way I can express my moods when I can’t hide them.
But another positive thing is that I haven’t had a panic attack in at least a week, and I’m focusing more on the things that make me happy again. I write stories and play my guitar every day again after I let both these things slip for a very long time, and doing it again makes me feel fulfilled, happy and like I’m good at something.

Furthermore, that also causes my duties to be less important, and I avoid studying as much as possible and often don’t even bother to open the college website to get back to my works for days. And the bigger the gaps between the study sessions become, the more the thought of doing them scares me. When I do things I don’t like very often, they become a part of my daily life I just have to get done (like showering which I despise because of my naked body), but when I avoid them, they fill me with fear again because fears of failures somehow manage to get stronger again in that case.

And if there is something I can’t deal with, then it’s failure. When I’m not capable of fulfilling the expectations I’m holding for myself, the little bit of self-worth I have vanishes completely and is substituted by doubts and hatred.
To keep myself from falling apart, I constantly listen to music, but that’s pretty much the only thing that always holds me together when getting through with my chores.
Of course my son also makes me happy, but because I’m a young single mom, people constantly doubt and criticize me (especially my own mom which really bothers me), and when it’s about my own child, that really upsets me, so being anywhere around other people that might watch me somehow constantly puts some sort of pressure on me.
And it’s rather difficult for me to be genuinely happy when I feel stressed and under so much pressure.

My counselor says I’m making progress and I believe that as well when I look at how insightful, honest, strong and courageous I am, but my mental stability is fragile and can sometimes be wrecked by a triggering advert when I’m about to eat. Not that I’d let people notice, but I’m a mess in my head and often feel overchallenged because of that.
To keep myself up, I focus on my future plans and dreams, positive activities and goals in my life, but I can’t help but suffer from inner breakdowns from time to time causing me to want to cry, rip my lungs out or just stay numb forever.
It’s frustrating how uncertain everything is, and even worse is my still very twisted relationship with both my body and food, and we don’t seem to be able to get along.

It’s all a big chaos inside of me despite looking perfectly fine to those outside of it, and I just want it to be as okay as it seems. I just want to be okay. I just wish it were as easy as talking about it.

If someone offered me a flight to get out and never even come back once, I’d catch it without thinking. This place is hell, and I can’t wait to get everything on my list done and say goodbye, which sadly will still take quite a while. The way everyone judges me and puts me down drives me crazy, but what really bothers me isn’t what they see- I learned not to care about that a long time ago. What wrecks me are the thoughts I create myself.

couple, ian somerhalder, and tumblr image

Where are you?
And I’m so sorry.
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time.

Advertisements

Welcome back, depression

 

I went through a few really great weeks concerning my depression when I was able to feel really normal with only a few hints of sadness and nothing else that resembles what my depression stands for, so I nourished the hope of actually getting rid of this disease after half a decade, but as usual, I was wrong.
Since my previous panic attack (another thing I’d hoped be able to defeat this year) and my two relapses concerning my bulimia after three weeks of being clean, depression has gotten ahold of me again. I’ve spent my forenoons sleeping instead of studying, stayed up even longer than usually, my insomnia has gotten worse, I constantly want to cry, my energy is being drained by this invisible force that makes me feel hopeless, sad, numb or just like shit, my smiles are lies and I find myself feeling the urge to just cuddle up in a blanket and never return to the outside world again. Doing nothing is no longer boredom, but everything I want and I keep picking my depressed Spotify playlists over my happy ones.


The pain has returned and I don’t know how to fight it.
I just don’t know.
Why does this crap always have to return?
Why can’t it just leave me the hell alone?
God, I wish all of this was easier. I wish something- anything could be easy at least once in my life.
I just want to run away, but I can’t. I need to keep going and pretend everything is right to make it better because I have a son whose future I’m responsible for, and to provide for that, I need to get my shit together and recover. Or at least stop the relapses. And most importantly: Stop getting worse.
I wish I didn’t always have to be brave and strong and all that shit and could just let go of everything for once and stop fighting it so hard. It hurts so much and I hate myself for feeling like this.
And even worse: Whenever I feel as crappy as I do right now, the goddamn grief returns as well and I miss my best friend so much because everything resembles me of her again and moving on from losing her seems impossible again.

If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
One day I’ll lose this fight
As we fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright

The first relapses of 2017

giphy (3).gif

Yes, they happened. And yes, I knew that they would. But still, it really, really sucks. I’m not entirely sure why it happened. Maybe I had just been keeping my shit together for too long and had to break down for once. Maybe.
Anyways, it started at the end of last week when the familiar feeling of longing overcame me and I began to miss my best friend again whom I lost in late summer 2012. I don’t know if it’s possible to completely get over the loss of someone close to you, but I know that I never did, so occasionally the pain of losing her hits me really hard and that’s what happened that evening. And when the grief returns, it doesn’t knock at the door and asks if it can come on- it crashes down on me like a wave and takes away my breath. That night, I spent hours on the tiled floor with my hands on my mouth, trying so hard to cry to be able to feel some relief, but all I got was a pain in my chest so intense that it felt like a heart attack. These panic attacks my grief causes have been haunting me for years and I often thought about talking about them to my counselor, but never did and when they stopped at the end of last year, I figured they might be over, but I was obviously wrong and now I’m guessing I really will have to finally talk about them because I can’t take them anymore.

giphy (23).gif

But, of course, that panic attack wasn’t the end of it, because when I relapse, it’s usually more intense than that.
My best male friend spent a night at my place, we watched AHS when my son was asleep in his bed and drank wine and vodka together. I felt the need to relax for once which is why I drank. And I knew about the consequences. When I drink, I never get sick, slur my words or stumble around like an idiot as long as I’m not extremely intoxicated, but what I do is get really touchy feely.
A while ago, I read that drunk people do things they want to do, but would never dare to actually do sober. And that’s me AF.
I’m a lonely person. I want to be closer to people, open up, talk, share, hug, cuddle, kiss, make out and have sex, but I don’t do any of these things because shutting others out is safer when you’re afraid of getting hurt, trusting too much or have body image issues, and I have all of the above.
But as expected, I threw those morals out the window with the vodka in my veins and my friend and I made out heavily and almost had sex. Almost.
And as expected, I regret it. We’re still friends and at least I don’t think this has damaged our relationship since we’re not into each other and were simply drunk (this happened before a few years ago and didn’t affect our friendship), but it still sucks that I can’t keep my damn hands and vagina to myself when I have guys around that I like and a few too many drinks in my stomach.
Anyways… That whole incident fueled my body image issues and discomfort with myself, so when my team lost the Sunday night football game, I needed some form of outlet for all those unpleasant feelings stored up inside of me to make myself feel better and finally relax.
The problem is: I know what I should have done. I know exactly how to behave in certain situations and how to be safe and protect myself from distorted behaviors, and yet I purposely decided not to do these things and repeat the old sick patterns by binging and purging for the first time after three weeks.
Afterwards, I was definitely able to feel extremely calm and no longer stressed at all because that’s unfortunately the positive effect the ED behaviors have on me (they make me feel safe, calm and secure), but I also felt horribly guilty towards my body and my recovery, and furthermore, the urge to repeat the whole thing has been getting stronger again since that happened.
My body and I are getting along worse every day and the struggle is getting harder, but I can’t slip again. Both last night and today, I’ve been feeling really down, depressed and hopeless again, but I need to keep going to pull through. It’s the only choice I have if I want this year to finally be different than the previous ones. I can’t let all of this shit repeat itself all over again.
Right now, I hate everything around me and myself and the need to get on a plane and never return is stronger than it’s ever been, but that ain’t gonna happen.
I’ll keep going. No matter what. Even though it really fucking sucks right now.

giphy (16).gif

Now the rain is just
You’re driving me crazy
I’m washing you out of my hair and out of my mind
Keeping an eye on the world
From so many thousands of feet off the ground
I’m over you now
I’m at home in the clouds and towering over your head

Why do we degrade ourselves?

Lately, all those ads that show up at the beginning of every new season (the current phase called the beginning of the new year is the most extreme one, but spring and the beginning of summer sadly aren’t much better) at all kinds of places so it’s basically impossible to escape them have been badly triggering me again, and because they make me feel this way, they also make me wonder.
Why is it such a huge deal for our society to pressure ourselves to slim our waist when something supposedly new shows up in our lives? Why, instead of focusing on what’s coming for us and trying to make the best out of it, do we reduce important matters to the shape of our tummies and put ourselves down so long that we start to feel like we aren’t enough anymore?
And why do we make something like the number the scale shows a more important matter than our happiness and health? Or maybe I should ask a different question: Why have we convinced ourselves that we need a certain dress size to be able to be both genuinely happy and healthy?
Whether it’s Instagram, YouTube, Google, the extra pages in the overpriced magazines, the billboards at the local subway station or the ad breaks on TV: Weight loss seems to be more important than anything else when starting into the new year. The variety of options, methods and advice are endless, but one thing is for sure: If you want this to be a good year, you need to get thinner.
And we believe it.
Trying on some shirts at H&M the other day, I overheard girls as young as maybe fourteen years talking about having to lose that holiday belly they’d gained, wishing my neighbor a happy new year, I got to hear about her being in desperate need to ‘finally’ get rid of her baby fat since her child is now already several months old, and going to the restaurant, my companion chose the ‘low carb’ options because that’s the only way to ‘get back on track’.
And yes, these things left me triggered and very self-conscious, but also puzzled.
Why do we make something as trivial as the amount of our body fat the center of your lives and the seemingly ultimate key to success in life?
It’s funny how we all tell each other how beautiful we naturally are and that we should love ourselves the way we are, but talk about weight loss strategies on the next page.
Is that really our life’s purpose? Isn’t that quite tragic when you think about it? That an image in the mirror defines how the world thinks about you, and even worse, how you think about yourself and whether you’re worthy or disgusting?
We’re constantly degrading ourselves to a level that it shocks and amazes me at the same time.
Yes, I do it too, but I wish I didn’t. This is not the way you should live your life. Desperately trying to change your shape to fit into a social construct of purely fictional perfection only gets you to one place: desperation.
I’ll never ever be good enough if I continue to let others determine whether I am.
It’s an unfortunate fact, but it is one.
This is a new year, and I won’t live it in self-hatred because I can’t acknowledge my own beauty and prefer to listen to sick voices telling me how to destroy myself for good. This society, these thoughts and these disorders are trying to take me down to make themselves feel better, and that doesn’t make them any better than another playground bully in middle school pushing around first graders to feel like a big man.
I need to end this before it ends me; I realize that now, and everyone else should too.
We. Are. Enough.
Downgrading ourselves just to belong at a sick place is not a mindset we should continue to raise our children with.

To quote one of my favorite online newspaper articles of all time I today finally printed out to finally give it its well-earned spot on my wall:
“Losing weight is not your life’s work, and counting calories is not the call of your soul. You surely are destined for something much greater, much bigger, than shedding 20 pounds or tallying calories. What would happen if, instead of worrying about what you had for breakfast, you focused instead on becoming exquisitely comfortable with who you are as a person? Instead of scrutinizing yourself in the mirror, looking for every bump and bulge, you turned your gaze inward?” – Lisa Turner

And now that I’ve finished my little thinking session, I need to get back to Netflix and my new KISS playlist on Spotify. Think about it, though. Ask yourself these questions. I sure will.

And before I leave… Read this (it’s not that long and you won’t regret it): http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-turner/body-image_b_1431566.html

Stuck

You’re stuck in the moment
When you thought you were rolling
But you can’t move on
You feel like you’re able
To live past the moment
You can’t move on

I’m currently debating whether I should continue my therapy because I’m beginning to feel like there’s no point in spending so much money for it at the moment. I’m stuck. Totally. I know it, my disorders know it, my recovery knows it, my counselor knows it. And the worst part? I know exactly what’s going on, and yet I’m unable to change the situation despite being the only one who can.
As usual, the problem is my overwhelming fear of leaving my comfort zone and changing something- anything. Being constantly afraid of making things worse doesn’t make recovery a very pleasant process and it looks like I’ve reached a point where I can’t go further without being taken down by my fear.
The situation is pretty much beyond remedy: I’m in the unidentifiable zone between real recovery and a real relapse where I adapt to sick behaviors on a daily basis, but realize that they’re sick and keep them under control and only act them out in a certain way without letting things slip and legitimately harming me or someone else. I’m not sick, but I’m not healthy either.
I eat, but I feel extremely guilty, I bake, but without sugar, I cook, but without oil, I eat candy, but only dark chocolate and DIY stuff (my counselor made me eat normal vegan cookies from the store yesterday and it was awful), I tell people that I’m not perfectly fine, but not how much everything stresses me, I don’t harm my body in any way, but I hate it with all of my heart.
Get my point?
I always manage to have things under control to be able to keep going without having someone notice or getting hurt in the process, but I’m not happy with the way things are.
I don’t even know what I want anymore. Sure, the long-term aims in my life are clear, but what do I want to reach with what I’m doing here and now knowing that it’s not what I actually want or need? And, more importantly, how am I planning to carry on in the future? Will I continue to live like this?
The one and only person who can change something about this is me, that’s something I realized over the years.
But I refuse to because the idea of letting go of the patterns I’ve been holding on to for such an incredibly long time frightens me. When saying that I don’t remember being satisfied and happy with my achievements and appearance, I’m not exaggerating. The thought of not being good enough has manifested so deeply that I’ve adapted to the self-proclaimed ‘fact’ that there is no way to ever change something about it, and distancing myself from this concept would turn everything upside down. Over the years, you unfortunately start to identify yourself with your disordered thoughts. Who and what am I without them? Can I risk pushing them away? Will I be left with nothing? Will I be nothing? Lose control, become invisible, gain weight, fail everything?
I don’t know. And as unrealistically as all of my fears are, they’re there and because they won’t go away, I won’t change. I’ve settled in my own little hell and as crazy as it sounds, it’s gotten quite comfortable with time because I’ve gotten so used to it.
Do I enjoy living like this?
Hell no.
Am I willing to change?
Unfortunately, no.
Because there is nothing scarier than the unknown.
So I’m stuck here, unknowing what to do with myself and my life, trying to make it through without losing myself in this chaos I’ve created. I can’t even tell anyone about this because it’s just beyond ridiculous and stupid. I could choose happiness and yet I choose to suffer because I’m a scaredy-cat. My obsession with a non-existent perfection has made me end up here, and I don’t even know where here is.
Am I giving up? Is that what I’m doing? I don’t think so. I mean, I am keeping my shit together, aren’t I? Hell, I just want to get away from everything here if I’m honest.

Take me away
Let’s get out of this town
Run, baby, run
We’re unstoppable now

grunge, night, and run image

The sick pressure in the sick mind

Okay, so I gotta write down my thoughts right now cause I’m driving crazy.

I have this extremely strong urge to freaking purge everything out of my stomach right now, and it makes me so stressed and anxious because it doesn’t make any damn sense. I mean, yeah, I ate a hell lot. And yeah, I feel really full and bloated and fat and stretched and whatever right now. And yeah, my body is digesting. And yeah, I hate myself for it because it terrifies me. But the thing is: Despite having had a small binge, everything I ate were safe foods. Unsweetened soy yogurt, 1/2 avocado with chili, a banana, 2 clementines, some zucchini and tomatoes with pure herbs and some nuts. Oh, and a bite from smoked tofu and some wheat free pizza crust.
It was a hell lot and I regret that I was so weak, but it was all ALLOWED.
No forbidden foods. At all.
Yet all I feel is this strong sense of hatred, guilt and the unstoppable wanting to puke my god damn guts out until I see blood, my tummy hurts, my hands are bruised, nose running, eyes red and I can finally feel the wonderful relief of the emptiness inside. But I can’t do it even though I want to. Even though the eating disorder makes me believe I should and that it would be the right thing.
Even though I feel fat, disgusting and weak. I need to stay strong because I can’t lose this fight again. I don’t want anything more than to raid all the cupboards, eat all the candy, drink some soda and spend half an hour bending in front of the toilet. It’s pathetic, stupid, sick and useless, and yet I want it more than anything and feel awful for not doing it. It’s like I can feel my stomach expanding and my body getting fatter, and only writing this already makes me feel more repulsed by myself than words could describe. I’m such a stupid, fat, disgusting loser. No strength, no discipline, no success.
It’s wrong to think like this.
But I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to stop it.
It’s the only safety I have in my mind.
If the self-hatred is gone, I don’t know what’s left.
It’s all I remember feeling in terms of myself.

I hate all of this so much.

But I can’t lose. I can’t. I was there before. It could kill me this time and I can’t risk that.

Isn’t it sad that women have fought so long and hard for our rights and equality, and now all our attention is put on being a size zero?

Breaking Point

The last few weeks have been horrible in terms of recovery, or, to say it more bluntly: I’m totally going downhill. While my depression has gotten a little better over the last few weeks, everything about my eating disorder is getting worse day by day. I wish I could say something motivational and/or inspirational, but it’s simply not possible. I’m counting calories again even though I fought so hard at the beginning of last year to quit that, have been restricting them, obsess over my weight from morning to midnight and have binged and purged so hard last week that I was having horrible pains in my belly and throat (and blood in my vomit) I hadn’t had in two years prior. To sum it up: I’ve fucked up again, badly, and I hate it, but can’t stop either, because nothing makes me feel safe and in control around food and my extreme self-hatred. What I’m doing to myself is both horrible and stupid and I feel so guilty because my son shouldn’t have a mom with a mental disorder, but there is literally no other way to deal with the stuff in my head. The last few years in therapy have taught me all kinds of amazing ways to handle all of this, but nothing works right now. Nothing.
I’m not even sad or depressed- I’m just desperate, stressed, anxious and driving crazy. My reflection disgusts me. My weight terrifies me. Food stresses me. My thoughts scare me. And I don’t know what to do.
Sure, I know that I should just get back on track and eat the way normal people do, but that wouldn’t drown out the voice in my head telling me to change something about it, screaming at me how awful I am as a person. I talk to my sister and can’t stop staring at her visible collarbones, I have a normal conversation with my mom and can’t stop wondering what size her jeans are, I walk around in public and compare my body to every other one I see to find out how many people are thinner than me. And I’m scared, so, so scared, and don’t exactly know of what. It’s about being in control, but what am I trying to control and why? And why do I keep losing it? Last week was one of the worst ones in the entire last year. I binged and purged excessively on numerous occasions and lied to everyone about it because I was so ashamed of what I’d done. It all reached its crisis this Monday when I was in the middle of an extremely long and painful purge after a just as extreme binge and stopped to experience a moment of clarity that utterly shocked me as I realized what I was doing. I’d spent the previous days in some kind of trance when nobody else had been around and my sick behavior around food had automatically become my personal form of routine again without giving me a chance to actually actively understand what I was doing to myself.
But in that moment, I did realize it.
And I stopped.
I can’t live like this anymore.
I know where it will take me. I’ve been there before and almost lost everything I’d ever cared about and now that I have a son, I cannot risk it again.
Since this Monday, I’ve been feeling completely lost (even more than before), but despite the fact that I’m clearly not living healthy, I’m not actively destructing myself and that’s probably the most important thing right now. I don’t have a clue what to do because I don’t want anything more than to be thin, but don’t know how to do that with the food and my conscience and my life and health and all the other things around here on my mind. I don’t know how to handle food because I can’t starve, binge, purge or eat normal, I don’t know how to behave and what I’m allowed and prohibited to do, say and consume and I definitely don’t know what will happen next, but I’m trying to make it through every single day without falling apart.
For me and for my son. And our future.
Today he’s exactly one year old and I got his birthday tattooed (my third tattoo) and I need to keep going for us. It’s all that matters.
Will I ever make it through this?
I honestly don’t know.
But considering how lost I feel, I guess I’m still doing a quite good job at handling all of this.
I don’t think I’m doing the right thing, but at least I’m not giving up.
Somehow managing to keep yourself above water can’t be called swimming, but at least I’m not sinking, right?

Burn with me, smoke will rise
Let the flames burn higher, walk into the fire